


Dreamless

by MeAndMyself



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeAndMyself/pseuds/MeAndMyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was just minding his own business when suddenly he wasn't the one controlling his body anymore. And he didn't like where this was going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamless

Sometimes, Stiles hated everything.

For example, it wasn’t bad enough that _fucking werewolves_ and _kanimas_ and _Darachs_ and fucking _human sacrifices_ were all things he now knew intimately, but all of that and also being in high school, and having to worry about his dad and the fact that he had misplaced his Adderall and couldn’t find it anywhere were all piled on top of his already high anxiety level and his increasingly bad insomnia, and to add the fucking cherry to the top of motherfucking sundae of insanity that was his life, there was this darkness that Deaton had warned them about that was making all of that feel a lot worse than it already had.

So yeah, Stiles hated everything.

He was currently on his third day with no sleep, and he was reading Wikipedia. Somehow he’d ended up on the Legends of Catherine the Great Wikipedia page, although he was pretty sure he’d started out reading about penguins and he had totally lost track of which links he’d clicked on. It was somewhere around three in the morning (he wasn’t entirely sure what time, the numbers were blurring together), and he was really just exhausted.

His leg was bouncing like crazy, his anxiety worsening his inability to stay still, and he wasn’t really paying much attention to what was going on until he saw something out of the corner of his eye. His automatic reaction was to turn to it, and so he went to do so.

But it didn’t work. He didn’t move. HIs body stayed facing the computer, and no matter how hard Stiles tried, he couldn’t turn his body. He was frozen in place. He felt his panic level start to raise, suddenly remembering the kanima and how it felt to be paralyzed while people were dying and unable to help as his dad -- and that was enough of that thought. Stiles shut it down hard, focusing back on the fact that he couldn’t move.

As soon as he did so, his body moved, standing up. Stiles was ready to celebrate until he realized that it wasn’t him. He wasn’t the one moving his body. He tried to go toward the bathroom, to go toward his bed, to do anything, but his body continued to walk calmly toward his door, grabbing his Jeep keys as he passed them. He walked quietly down the stairs and out the door, miraculously not waking his dad. Stiles felt simultaneously relieved and worried by that. Relieved, because whoever was controlling could have used him to attack his dad; worried, because damnit, he had no idea what was going on and he was panicking.

He got into his Jeep and drove away from the house. Stiles wondered vaguely how whoever was controlling him could see where he was going, but most of his mind was worried what he was going to do. Clearly someone who was using his body didn’t have good intentions. Would he ever get control of his body? Was he going to die? Who the hell was controlling him? How were they controlling him?

The Jeep pulled up outside a place Stiles recognized and he felt his stomach sink.

He was at Scott’s house.

This couldn’t be good. Not at all. Stiles felt his heart start racing, panicking completely. His body, however, got out of the Jeep and walked to a line of bushes one house down from Scott’s house, and pulled out a bag. Stiles felt sick as his body unzipped the bag and pulled out two knives. Big, Argent-type knives, with what Stiles knew had to be wolfsbane mixed in with the blade.

_Oh, God, oh, god, oh, god, ohgod ohgod ohgodohgodohgod_

Stiles couldn’t help the hysterical thought as it circled in his mind. He wanted to throw up, or scream, maybe, to warn Scott. Because Scott had no reason to think Stiles would ever show up to ambush him and _ohgodohgodohgodohgod_

His body tucked the knives out of sight and started toward the house. Stiles had climbed in through Scott’s window many a time, so he knew the exact route that his body took up the wall, and that just served to freak him out more. Because Scott would hear it and know it was Stiles, and he would let him in his room, and Stiles couldn’t think about the ending to that because it was just too horrible. He hoped to God Scott heard his heartbeat and knew something was wrong, he hoped Isaac was there and would be able to stop him, he hoped Ms. McCall was not there because this would freak her out, he hoped someone would just throw him off the roof because his body was now at Scott’s window, and Scott was there on the other side, looking confused and concerned.

_No, Scott, don’t open it!_ Stiles yelled in his head, but of course Scott couldn’t hear him, and the window was sliding open.

“What the hell, Stiles?” Scott whispered. He apparently caught a whiff of Stiles’ panic, because his face scrunched up in worry and his eyes flashed red, like he was unable to help it. “What’s wrong? Stiles, is everything okay?”

And then, like the best friend Scott was, he moved back, helping Stiles through the window. Stiles’ body hadn’t said anything yet, and Stiles wasn’t entirely sure it could without taking over his brain, and considering the way his mind was spinning, he was pretty sure that was all him.

“Stiles?” Scott asked. “Dude, your heartbeat is racing, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

_No! I’m not!_ Stiles yelled in his head, and he felt his body bend over, putting his hands on his knees like he was struggling to breathe. Which he was, he realized, and he felt Scott move forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Stiles?” Scott asked quietly. Stiles could hear the panic Scott was apparently feeling and fought harder than ever against the force directing his body. Because this couldn’t be happening. His panic kicked up another notch when he couldn’t move anything, and apparently Scott was actually able to smell that, because his hand squeezed Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water, okay?” Scott said quietly, letting go of Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles knew what was going to happen before it did. Scott turned away from him, and as soon as his back was completely exposed, whoever was controlling Stiles made his move. Stiles’ body pulled one of the knives out of his hiding spot and lunged forward, and Stiles screamed inside his head as the knife imbedded itself in Scott’s back, directly though his heart, and Scott collapsed to the floor with barely a sound, and he could see Scott’s wide-eyed empty stare, and there was a flash of light, and someone was yelling, and Stiles didn’t know what was exactly happening, but it didn’t matter, because _oh god he’d literally stabbed Scott through the back Scott was dead oh god_.

He was having a full on panic attack, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t process anything. He was stuck on what had just happened, Scott was dead and someone had used Stiles to kill him and Scott was dead, Stiles had watched him die, he was suffocating.

“Stiles!” a voice yelled and Stiles blocked it out, not wanting to hear what happened when someone found him over Scott’s body, he didn’t want to hear what was going on.

“Damnit, Stiles!” the same voice yelled and Stiles realized it was his father. How had his father gotten there? Had he woken him up without noticing and his dad had followed him? _Oh, God, please don’t make me attack him, please leave him alone, oh god._

“Stiles!” his father’s voice yelled, and Stiles made his mind latch onto it, unable to do anything else. “Wake up!”

And then Stiles was opening his eyes, and he was looking up at his dad, and he still couldn’t breathe and he didn’t know where he was, but there was no Isaac or Ms. McCall standing over him looking upset, and in fact, Stiles didn’t hear anything except his dad’s voice, which was saying something Stiles couldn’t really make out at the moment, and that ceiling wasn’t Scott’s ceiling.

He shot upright, ignoring his dad’s surprised, “Stiles?” and looked around, realizing as he did so he was in control of his own body, and he was in his own room, and there was no body on the floor, and his computer chair was laying on its side and Stiles’ head really hurt, like he’d hit it on something, and all of these pieces connected together and Stiles realized it had all been a dream. A horribly vivid nightmare, and he let out a sigh of relief that turned into a sob.

That broke the dam, and once he started, there was no stopping it. He drew his knees to his chest and hid his face in his arms, sobbing so hard his entire body shook. He felt his dad settling down on the floor next to him, and leaned onto his dad, needing the comfort. His dad wrapped an arm around him, and they stayed like that until Stiles finally calmed down. He was still a little disoriented, and his chest and head both hurt, and his face was irritated and probably red, but Stiles didn’t want to move. The nightmare had been too vivid, it had felt real. Stiles had never had a dream that real before.

He had the sudden need to check on Scott, to make sure it really was just a dream. He tried to push away from his dad, to get his phone, but he didn’t exactly succeed. His limbs were heavy and his entire body was exhausted. He didn’t have the energy to move.

“What?” his dad apparently realized he needed something.

“I need to call Scott,” Stiles said. “I need to make sure...”

He didn’t finish, but from the look on his face, his dad understood, and he got up to get Stiles’ phone. He dialed for Stiles, because Stiles was shaking too hard to operate the touch screen, and then handed him the phone.

Stiles held his breath as the phone rang, desperately hoping Scott had his phone on and near him. If he didn’t answer, Stiles was making his dad take him over there, because he needed to know Scott was okay, that it hadn’t been real.

“Hello?” he heard Scott answer the phone groggily and Stiles let out a breath, the last of his panic receding. Stiles’ dad relaxed too, and Stiles realized he’d probably freaked him out. He gave his dad an apologetic look, but his dad just squeezed his shoulder, shaking his head.

“Stiles?” Scott apparently had the presence of mind to check his caller ID. “It’s like four in the morning.”

“Sorry, Scott,” Stiles immediately cursed his voice. It cracked three times in those two words, a feat Stiles wasn’t entirely sure was possible.

And of course, that clued Scott in that something was wrong. “What? Is everything okay? Where are you?”

“Everything’s fine,” Stiles wiped his face on the bottom of his shirt. “Sorry, it’s just,” he cleared his throat. “I had a really vivid dream and I just,” he couldn’t really finish that without feeling like an idiot, so he didn’t, hoping Scott understood.

To his credit, Scott did, almost immediately. “Oh. I’m fine. I promise. Are you okay?”

Stiles wondered how to exactly answer that. He figured both Scott and his dad deserved to hear the truth. “No.”

“Do you need company or something?” Scott asked. Stiles actually smiled at that. Scott was an awesome friend.

“No,” Stiles said. “But you might have to distract me tomorrow.”

“No problem,” Scott agreed.

“Night, Scott.”

“Night, Stiles.”

Stiles hung up, because he knew Scott wouldn’t until he was sure Stiles had. Then he put his phone on the floor and took a deep, shuddering breath. His dad put his hand on his neck, rubbing it gently.

“Need anything?” he asked.

“Water, and Tylenol or something,” Stiles answered. His head was killing him.

“Want to come with?” his dad asked, and Stiles nodded. He really didn’t want to be alone right now. His dad got up and held a hand out, and Stiles stood up, albeit very slowly and shakily. His limbs didn’t quite want to cooperate, and so there was a lot of stumbling as he walked down the stairs behind his dad. They reached the kitchen, and Stiles sat down at the island as his dad got the glass of water and two pills for him to take.

“Want to talk about it?” his dad asked after he’d taken the medicine.

Stiles considered it. On one hand, he should probably tell his dad about it, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure he could recount it without having another panic attack. He felt his panic start to rise as he started to think about the dream again. The way he’d just stabbed, and Scott had just dropped, and --

He felt a hand on his shoulder again and looked up. His dad was right there.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “But please answer this question. How many times has this happened?”

“Just this once,” Stiles answered truthfully. He hadn’t had any dreams like that ever before, not even back when he’d had nightmares about his mom’s death.

“And how long has it been since you actually slept?” his dad asked.

“Um,” Stiles forced his tired brain to think. “What day of the week is it?”

“It’s Saturday morning,” his dad said.

“I think I slept Tuesday night,” Stiles answered, deciding not to lie. He was too tired to, anyway.

His dad let out a slow breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stiles bit his lip. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

His dad deflated almost immediately. “Kid, you have got to stop worrying about me and take care of yourself.”

Stiles had no idea what to say to that, so he just shrugged. He didn’t like worrying his dad. His dad had enough on his plate.

His dad looked at him. “You need sleep.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back the snort that that statement elicited. “Not that easy.”

“I know,” his dad said. He leaned forward onto the counter. “What do you want to do?”

Stiles shrugged. He had no idea what to do. In truth, recently, Stiles hadn’t really thought about what he wanted to do about it. He didn’t think there was really anything they could do about it, and so he’d just kind of accepted that this was his life now, and he was stuck with shitty nightmares and sleepless nights. If he even lived through high school, it would be a fucking miracle. He had nothing to lose by telling his dad this, so he voiced this thought out loud.

His dad narrowed his eyes like he’d realized something. “Stiles. I don’t think this is that whatever Deaton was talking about.”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, what? What else could it be?”

“PTSD,” his dad said. Stiles stared, but he could tell his dad was completely serious.

“PTSD?” he repeated, unable to keep all of the disbelief out of his voice. “You think I have PTSD?”

“Stiles,” his dad said firmly, and Stiles, who was starting to feel a bit hysterical, just stared at him. “It’s not as impossible as it sounds. How long was I gone?”

Stiles did not like to think about this. “Um, like two days?” he said, feeling his heart pound again as he remembered how helpless and panicked he’d felt for those days. He squeezed his eyes shut, determined to keep that train of thought out of the station, thank you.

“Stiles,” his dad said quietly.

“I think you’re right,” Stiles said before his dad could continue, opening his eyes. He actually hoped his dad was right, because if he was, then there was something they could do about it. Maybe. He wasn’t sure how to go about doing that, but it was better than the darkness theory. Because this way, he could work it out, he could stop having nightmares that kept him up all night and thoughts that caused him to have to find an excuse to get alone so he could just breathe.

His dad sighed. “Okay. I can ask around to see what to do, if you want to do something about it.”

Stiles nodded, then said, “Yeah. I just, how do we do that with the whole werewolves part? I mean, PTSD is one thing, but that would get me locked up in a mental hospital.”

His dad shrugged. “Well, there’s got to be some therapist in the world who knows. I’ll ask Deaton. Or maybe Derek. Or Chris.”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, okay. But --.”

“I’ll keep it quiet,” his dad promised. “No one will know who doesn’t have to. I promise.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

“You might want to tell Scott, though,” his dad said.

“I will,” Stiles had no intention of keeping it from Scott. Because Scott would get it out of him anyway, and because it would be good to know someone would be able to help him if he wasn’t at home and had something happen.

He yawned so wide it hurt his cheeks, and his dad said, “Maybe we should go to bed now.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Stiles said quietly. He didn’t want to close his eyes and see the dream all over again.

“Come on,” his dad said, heading out into the living room. “We’ll put on a movie.”

Stiles gave a small smile, following his dad into the living room and settling down on the couch next to him. He flat out refused to watch anything with anything resembling the dream in it, so his dad put in _The Breakfast Club_ and Stiles sat back to watch. He didn’t last very long. He closed his eyes.

Stiles slept through the night, his father by his side. His sleep was undisturbed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is Myself. Wanted to write something to get rid of my major Stiles feels from the promos. Read and beta'd by Me.
> 
> This may or may not become a series, I don't know if I'm gonna add to it. We'll see if I get the inspiration to add to it. This was inspired by a recent RP. Thanks for reading!


End file.
